


All that there's in a name

by GwenChan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character' study, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, Post-Canon, Russian Names Conventions, Russian diminutives, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: "Above all Yuri discovers how important names are for Victor. Maybe it’s something cultural; maybe it’s just him. Victor catalogues moods and situations on a strict name-basis."A story about how names can affect a relationship.





	

**All that there's in a name**

* * *

 

“Tell me, Yuri,” Victor begins, one anonymous morning, while pouring milk in his morning coffee.

“Yes?”

“We’ve been together for a while, right? Then why you never call me Vicchan?”

_Because calling you with the name of my dead dog would be inappropriate._

Hiroko is the only one to call Victor “Vicchan”. It’s her prerogative. It’s something she and only she does. When the nickname exits her mouth it feels natural. From others’ lips, even Yuri’s, not so much.

Vicchan is Hasetsu. It’s spending a week of summer holiday in the onsen. It's helping around with the business of the Yu-topia Katsuki. It’s Victor aiding in the kitchen, fringe held by a pin, or at the front desk with the possible foreign guests. It’s Hiroko thanking him, a happy look on her face. She dries her puffy hands on the oil-stained apron before serving him the third bowl of katsudon.

Vicchan is Hiroko speaking on Skype to his soon-to-be son-in-law. They chat in a broken mixture of English and Japanese, always pausing to search this word or that on the dictionary.

 

“What about Vitya, then?”

Yuri sighs, shaking his head. He has tried to call Victor "Vitya", but the word on his tongue feels always wrong.

Vitya is Victor’s life in Russia, before and without Yuri. It's stopping while buying groceries to chat with the old and gentle baker round the corner. She has always flour in her blonde crown-braid. She and Victor speak in a Russian so quick Yuri can grasp only few words here and there.

Vitya is St Petersburg’s rink with Yakov shouting from the early morning. The poor man deserves a monument. The old coach calls his oldest pupil Vitya even when he's mad and on the verge to send him to Siberia

Vitya is Mila skating toward Victor. She giggles with the phone in her hands, shouting about some funny meme or instagram picture.

 

“Vityusha? Vitenka?”

“I thought you hated when they call you Vityusha!”

 

 _They_  are Victor’s maternal grandparents. It doesn't matter that he's Victor Nikiforov, twenty-eight years old legend of figure skating, fifth time Grand Prix champion and as much World champion. For them he'll always be Vityusha. Little Vityusha. Especially since his grandma suffers from dementia and is sure beyond any doubt that her only nephew is six. Vityusha is Victor bending forward to let his granny kiss his cheeks, leaving a faint mark of cheap reddish lipstick. It's wrinkled hands on his shoulders and comments on how much he has grown. Vityusha is double portion of hot borscht "for special occasion". 

 

Vitenka, yet, is sex. There's no other way to say it. It's one of the things that should never exit the bedroom. It's private, like their sex life; like, you know, lube and condoms and kinks and all the thing strangers are not supposed to know about. Supposed is the key word, as some suck marks are always a little too visible.

Vitenka is flushed skin against skin, nails biting into flesh, intoxicating warmth. It's Victor on his knees, hands tied behind his strong back, and eyes full of adoration. 

Vitenka is pure submission, something a stranger would never imagine from Victor the champion or Victor the coach.

The name rolls rarely out of Yuri's mouth, but when it happens it's solid power, dark and velvety. A power is careful not to abuse. 

 

"Why can't I call you  _Viktoru_?" Yuri asks, indulging in that final extra vowel out of habit. Despite having spent five years in America, he had never truly learnt to pronounce names the Western way. Even when he's speaking English, although in the latest months they have set for a strange mix of Russian and Japanese, with a prevalence of the former, Victor is always  _Viktoru_. 

Always the Japanese way.

 

Here in St Petersburg it becomes part of Yuri's identity. Despite all the stereotypes of Japanese people being overly formal with new acquaintances, he has been on first name basis with Victor since the very beginning. Looking back he notices he has never called him Nikiforov coach, not even once. It has never been necessary. 

Even before the sentiment in his chest bloomed in full love, it was already  _Viktoru_.

And still, as weeks pass, even that  _Viktoru_ starts to be unsatisfactory. It remembers Yuri too much of the times when there was still a wall of unspoken words and unshared memories between them. Miscommunication.

The wall hasn't completely disappeared yet, but now it's thinner, like a rice paper panel, a see-through when the light hits it with the right angle. 

With the right word, the right gesture.

***

 

It isn't something Yuri has planned when the nickname rolls out of his tongue one Sunday morning. He's been studying Russian for months now and of all the people is Georgi that explains him the subtitles of affectionate diminutives. When the man isn't whining about his ex girlfriend, he's a surprisingly exquisite person. 

 

"Looks like I won again, Vitechka," Yuri says. He and Victor are playing rock, scissor, paper to decide who has to clean the bathroom. Yuri has a special talent for this kind of hazard. He hasn't planned the nickname and when realization hits him in the form of Victor's head tilting on the side with curiosity, he frantically waves his hands. 

"Oh, sorry! Don't tell me it's something your mother calls you with. Or, worse, a relative you hate."

But Victor shakes his head. "Actually, no," he assures. "Believe it or not, nobody has ever called me Vitechka. I like it," he adds. 

Yuri feels like something is locking in his chest. Not in bad way, though. 

So be it.

It repeats the word once, twice, feeling the way it makes his lips curl and stretch, the way his tongue moves around vowels and consonants. 

It's his. It's the everyday non-sexual intimacy of laundries and chores. It's Victor pouting.

 

"Do we have to do this every time?" He protests, as his rock is promptly wrapped by Yuri's paper. 

"Yes, Vitechka. It's fair."

And then he giggles. He knows that soon Victor will pretend to change the game to divide the chores. 

"I'm looking forward for the next season. Two weeks of housework if I win gold!" He beats one afternoon, in sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. Yuri smirks. "I wouldn't brag. I don't think Yurio will be so wiling to leave you the highest place on the podium."

_I am not willing to leave you the gold._

"Fine. If I place highest than you –“

“If.”

 

***

 

When Yuri was nineteen Phichith told him that he could have won first, second, and even third place in a quiz about Victor and Yuri used to believe so. At nineteen, he had already searched all that was available about his idol, putting together official interviews with badly translated Russian sentences of dubious accuracy. 

He used to believe he knew everything about Victor Nikiforov.

From the very first weeks of Victor staying in Hasetsu, however, Yuri discovered how wrong he was. 

Like, once in an interview a journalist had asked a fifteen-years-old Victor if there were any downsides in figure skating. Victor had chuckled, before proceeding in saying that it was all-nice, besides bruises, but he couldn't stand the broccoli Yakov insisted to put in his diet.

And there was Yuri, eleven at the time, with a big, glass heart, Ice Castle Hasetsu stickers plastered all over his notebooks, and sudden concerns with broccoli.

 

"I thought you hated broccoli," Yuri says, seeing his fiancé putting a package in the shopping cart. Victor freezes, his brain probably dealing with plus information at the same time. Namely Yuri's being the fanboy he is and why on earth should he has to have a problem with any vegetables. 

Besides the carrots of aunt Katja, but everybody hates the carrots of aunt Katja.

It takes a while for the right memory to set in.

"Oh, right!" Victor exclaims, both amused and a little disconcerted that Yuri remembers something from so long ago. "It's not that I don't like them. Well, I don't dislike them anymore. But there was this woman who used to babysit me when I was little and she was a nice person but her broccoli soup was disgusting," he concludes, a whining note in his voice. Yuri can't help but laugh. 

He knew Victor is a dog person, but then he discovers that his very first pet was a golden fish that died soon after having been bought because a child Victor gave him too much food.

He knew about the piano lessons his fiancé undertook to improve his already good sense of rhythm, but not that they ended up being a completely disaster. Apparently Voctor has never been able to play more than some Russian equivalent of Neko Funjatta.

 

 

Yuri knew already so many details of Victor’s life, but they were empty. Now there’s a strong and stable ground behind them. Day by day he ends up discovering also Victor’s flaws, the little bad habits it’ll take years to correct. He finds himself not caring a little bit.

Above all Yuri discovers how important names are for Victor. Maybe it’s something cultural; maybe it’s just him. Victor catalogues moods and situations on a strict name-basis. He acts differently based on how people call him; he anticipates what people expect from him.

That’s why, when the question pops out, Yuri knows he should’ve expected it.

 

“What do you want me to call you?”

Yuri shrugs. “Vitechka, you already call me cutes names.”

Victor waves his hand, dismissingly. “They don’t matter. I’m talking something about your name. I –“ he stops, letting his hands fall down in his lap. His fringe moves a little to the side. There’s a sparkle of sad nostalgia in his blue eyes. “It’s just that now it’s so strange to call you by full name. Nobody here in Russia would ever call the person they love by its full name. It feels so off," he continues explaining. As Yuri seems ready to say something, Victor makes a gesture meaning he's not finished. 

"I can't call you Yura. That's for Yurio."

"Yurochka?" Yuri proposes.

"That's for little kids. It would be inappropriate after having seen what you can do in bed," Victor shoots back, a mischievous note in his voice and eyes. He buries fingers in his silver locks, combing hair from his forehead. Yuri has already seen Victor like this, struck by an inspiration he can't quite grasp. He mutters under his breath, tossing away options with a tilt of the head. 

Yuri goes behind him, wrapping carefully his arms around Victor's shoulders. He let his head rest on Victor's. 

"Why does it have to be so important?" He hums, hands draping lazily on his fiancé's chest. 

"I told you."

"There's more, I can tell."

Victor sighs, the way he does when he accepts to have been exposed. He reaches back a hand to caress Yuri's cheek. "You know me too well.”

"I do. So, what's the problem?"

"You see, when you're famous you start to cherish all the little private moments other can't see."

Yuri emits a little chuckle. He tells Victor he has no right to talk so seriously. 

"Just let me finish! So you have Vitechka. It's not common. Or, nobody I know uses it. I probably wouldn't allow anybody besides you to use it! I need a nickname for you with the same meaning!"

Something that talks about  _home_ and  _family;_ the place where you can forget your troubles. 

 

“Well, in Japan we have the  _chan_ suffix for people you’re intimate with,” Yuri begins, voice slow as he puts together the sentence words by words. “But Yu-chan is something I already use for Yuko, so you won’t get the exclusive.”

“So it’s not use,” Victor finishes for him. They stay in silence for a while, biting lips in concentration, with fingers almost rubbing temples in the hope to be struck by the idea of the century. 

And then everyday life reclaims their attention and the problem is postponed to another day. 

Yuri lies awake. His eyes are wide open in the dark, fixed on the ceiling. For how cliché and silly it may be, he remembers that overused quote from the" Little Prince", the one about the rose. It’s been years since he’s read the book – he isn’t even sure if he has read it in Japanese or English – but somehow he recalls something about names and identity. 

If you give me a name, I'll be _your_ rose. 

_A rose by any other name._

He grunts, but let his mind wander nonetheless through fictional scenarios. 

 

In the end the issue drops almost completely in the span of a couple weeks. It's not that Victor has stopped caring - Yuri has seen him browsing websites about Russian and Japanese name conventions - but there's more pressing subjects that need to be handled. 

Worlds are almost there and Victor is so desperate to save time that he ends up practicing his step sequence while cooking. Yuri hears him counting time under his breath, the familiar "un, deux, trois" from the ballet days. 

It doesn't take long before Yuri starts to imitate him. 

They must appear crazy, totally crazy, to an outside eye. 

 

Sometimes, despite his words, Victor calls Yuri _Yura_ ; never with Plisetsky present, though. Then he starts calling him Yuriusha. Or Yurechka. Yurenka. And at least other five ridiculous diminutives Yuri's pretty sure Victor's making up on the moment. 

Yuri lets him do it. Victor's voice is soft and tender and Yuri hears it more than any nickname. 

He stops thinking about it without even noticing. He stops waiting for Victor to pick out just one nickname out of the dozens he has discovered lately. He gets used to be called a different diminutive each day. 

At the rink the Russian skaters start to call him _Yura_. Even Yurio.

 

***

 

A year passes like nothing. 

It's soon before the beginning of the GP that Yuri brings up the issue once again. He approaches it sideways. They are in the locker room of St Petersburg rink, carefully polishing their blades.

“Do you remember when you asked me if I wanted a photo with you?” Yuri asks, almost nonchalantly. Victor nods, a twinge of regret in the form of a little wrinkle just above his eyebrows.

“Too bad, yes.”

“Well, do you know why I was staring at you?”

“Because I’m handsome?” Victor jokes. Yuri gives him a little, soft punch in the forearm. “I’ve thought you were calling me.”

 

Yuri remembers it far too well. It remembers it because he’s still afraid that one day he’ll be drained back to that starting point, all that has happened next obliterated. He remembers hearing that “Yuri!” and his heart skipping a bit and his body starting to turn, before discovering that it wasn’t meant for him.

He remembers the little “oh” escaping his lips, full of disappoint and regret. How silly he has felt just thinking that _Victor Nikiforov_ was calling him. How pretentious.

It’s strange to tell Victor about it after so long time. “I miss hearing you calling my name, my real name. Don’t get me wrong, I think the diminutives are cute, but I preferred the way things were before,” Yuri finally says.

“Yes. Sure. Whatever you want.”

There’s a sad look on Victor’s face, the one that follow the discovery to having hurt a loved person without wanting to.

 

Yuri can’t pretend that Victor drops the habit immediately. He doesn’t even correct his fiancé when he continues distorting his name in all those silly ways. It takes time.

Meanwhile the assignments come. Yuri will compete in the Skate America and Cup of China; Victor will be at the Skate Canada and NHK Trophy.

It’ll be a mess.

 

***

Yuri knows when he’ll land a quad without falling or messing it up even before having touched the ice. It feels it in the way his body turns in mid-air, the tension of the muscles, and the pull in his stomach. At this speed, without glasses, it’s all blurry and he doesn’t even dare to breath, too afraid that a sigh will be enough to ruin everything.

It’s only when the blade collide with the ice, strong and clean, that Yuri allows himself to breath again. He knows too well how his body and brain need oxygen to finish the FS.

There’s a dull ache in his limbs, what has been left of months of training. It’s the awareness that the choreography’s now embedded in every fibre of his being. He doesn’t quite let his mind wander – Yakov has been very strict about “being focused” and “having always a back-up plan” – but he’s pretty sure that if he ever does it, his body will know the steps nonetheless. As strange as it may be, Yuri feels sure.

So when he stops twirling, coming out from the last combination spin, and hears the crowd roaring with enthusiasm, he knows he’s done well. He _knows_ he’ll have a good score.

He skates to the exit of the rink, wiping sweat from is forehead before it falls in his eyes. With his surprise it’s Mila and Yurio the first one to welcome him.

“It wasn’t a complete disaster, Katsudon,” Yurio says and it’s his way to compliment him.

“Well done, Yura!” Mila adds and it’s there, with the Russian team that seems to have all the intention to keep him from Victor, that Yuri understands.

He notices how, while his fiancé was slowly abandoning any nickname, the other Yakov’s pupils were going in the exact opposite direction.

It’s like they have adopted him.

Now nobody of the people he knows in St Petersburg calls him by full name anymore. Nobody, except for Victor.

 

So when he hears a voice sing-songing _Yuuri_ he knows exactly who’ll be there waiting for him when he’ll turn.

**Author's Note:**

> Neko Funjatta (I stepped on a cat) it's a Japanese nursery rhyme and an easy piano piece.  
> I've done my research about Russian name conventions and diminutives, but if I've made any mistakes, I apology. Also, feel free to correct me.  
> As always, English's not my first language, so I please you to bear any strange sentence structure. I'm still working on it.
> 
> At the beginning I'd planned to do only the part relative to Victor's nicknames, but as I was proceeding, I found myself wanting to add also something about Yuri and so here we are.  
> I hope you've enjoyed it.
> 
> Come visit my tumblr: gwen-chan.tumblr.com


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